


Edu-sex

by Prim_the_Amazing



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Friends With Benefits, Locus: certified sex coach, M/M, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-21
Updated: 2018-05-21
Packaged: 2019-05-09 20:13:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14722836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Prim_the_Amazing/pseuds/Prim_the_Amazing
Summary: “Please talk to him for me?” Grif asks.Locus imagines explaining to Simmons, who he is not particularly close to, how to fuck Grif well from personal experience because his boyfriend whom he loves has a problem with how terrible he is at sex.“Absolutely not,” he says.





	Edu-sex

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to hylian for the idea and gemi for support!

Locus is trying to blend into the background.

“Bro,” Kai says, draped across Grif. “Brooooo. You need to let laid.”

He tries harder.

“What!?” Grif yelps.

“Tucker, Tucker told me,” she slurs, half empty beer bottle in her hand, “he told me that you’ve been pining after that robo ass for like a _decade.”_

A decade? Wow that was much worse than what Locus had assumed. How could one possibly keep up that level of sheer sexual and romantic tension for so long without doing something about it.

“So?” he asks, and then a moment later, “No I haven’t!”

“Are you trying to tell me that you,” she pokes a finger into his chest, _“you_ slept around while you were in love with someone?”

“Yes,” he says, bristling. And again, a moment later, “And I’m not!”

“Oh yeah?” she asks with drunken cockiness that only just outdoes her sober cockiness. “When was the last time, then?”

“..................................................... Eight years ago,” Grif admits.

Kai loudly shrieks in horror. Several heads briefly turn their way, and then away again back to their own drinks and presumably equally stupid conversations. Locus is starting to become used to this group.

“Dex!” she cries out in agony, as if her brother has just been shot before her very eyes. _“No!”_

“Shut up!” Grif says.

“Oh god, Dex,” she goes on, tears in her eyes, and she embraces him. Grif immediately starts to try and push her off. She clings on with a deceptive strength. “I had no idea it was so bad. I didn’t really think you’d gone over a decade without sex.”

 _“Under_ a decade!” he protests, still struggling against the hug.

“Bro, baby bro,” she says.

“I’m the older one,” he says.

“If he’s gone this long without sucking your dick--” Grif chokes, “--then it’s probably still not happening for a while. And you _need_ to get laid.”

“No I don’t,” he grunts, prying her fingers off of him one by one.

“Yes you do,” she disagrees without hesitation. “I know you bro. Holy shit, you need it so bad.”

“You’re the worst sister,” he hisses. “I miss when puberty hadn’t hit you yet.”

“You mean when I was always asking you how babies were made? Hey, Locus!”

He’s been made. Locus enacts his party exit strategy.

“Locus, you promised you’d stay half an hour!” Donut cries out, but that doesn’t stop him from jumping through the window. He’s broken promises before, after all.

 

 _You need to get laid._ For some reason, Kai’s drunken declaration echoes inside of his head like something that’s actually at all significant.

The last time Locus had sex was… some time ago. He doesn’t actually clearly remember it, which isn’t a good thing. It was with Felix, he knows. But by the time he died they hadn’t really done anything for years, as Locus retreated into his armor for longer and longer, as Felix grew more and more… Felix-ish. The Chorus job most definitely didn’t help, with the two of them being unable to have much contact with each other at all for any length of time.

He’s certain that it wasn’t eight years ago, at least.

It’s still been a long time, though.

_You need to get laid._

He shakes his head clear.

 

“Has it really been eight years,” he interrupts Grif mid sentence, because sometimes that’s the only way he can get in a word edgewise with him, and also because he can’t fucking stop thinking about it for some reason and maybe just talking about it will help.

“--don’t see why-- uh, what? Oh,” he says. “OH. So you _did_ hear that. Ah. Ah hahahaha. Ha! Well.”

Locus stares at him.

“Yes,” Grif says. “Please don’t tell anyone.”

He nods.

“Thanks man,” he sighs, running a hand through his hair. “Fuck, it really has been eight years. That’s. Ridiculous. I mean I’m seriously not a looker but I probably had an opportunity _somewhere,_ there.”

This bothers Locus, for some reason.

“What,” Grif says. “What is it? Your eyebrows are doing a thing, dude.”

He thinks about it. Realizes. Thinks, what the hell, it’s _Grif._ The two of them have so much blackmail on each other by now that they’re completely safe from each other as well. Admittedly, Locus has a bit of an advantage. Grif talks more, and everyone already knows that Locus tried to do a genocide once.

“I like the way you look,” he says.

“Aw, thanks!” Grif says. “That’s, uh, that’s nice of you to say, but you don’t have to. I know what I-- it’s fine! I like the way _you_ look _very_ much-- shit, am I making this weird--”

Locus frowns at him. “I _do_ like the way you look.”

“It’s fine,” Grif insists.

Locus frowns some more, and looks Grif in the eyes, determined. He doesn’t like Grif not believing him when he’s telling the truth. “I find you attractive. If we were to have met casually in other circumstances, I may very well have done something about it. I have liked the way you look enough for it to affect me in the past.”

Grif stares at him, wide eyed. Locus runs what he just said through his head a few times, and wants to die a little bit. This is why he tries to keep his talking to a minimum. Because sometimes he springs out nonsense like that at his platonic best friend.

And then, “I gave you a boner?” Grif asks him, sounding astonished and happily flattered.

Well, he supposes that that is the best possible reaction. Still, he wants to die even more to hear him say it like that.

“Gnn,” he answers.

“Oh wow,” Grif says, looking off into the distance like he’s _imagining_ it. Locus crosses his legs. _“I_ gave _you_ a boner. I really didn’t see that coming!”

Locus gives himself a moment to wallow in sheer mortification, vowing to never reveal something about himself again to anyone, and then he blinks and says, “Are you implying that I’ve given you a boner.”

“Uhhhhhhhhhhhh,” Grif says.

“I told you that you gave me a boner,” he says, and then realizes with horror that he just _repeated_ that horrible fact about himself. When will he stop? He must be stopped.

“Okay, fine! You’ve given me a boner! So what! I’d be shocked to find out if you _hadn’t_ given someone a boner!”

“You don’t have to be so defensive,” Locus points out. “You’ve given me a boner too. It’s mutual.” Oh fuck, he just did it for the _third time in a row._

“Well! I guess it is!” Grif goes on, and then has to momentarily pause to let that fact sink in. Locus follows suit.

They make eye contact.

They have _mutually given each other boners._

They break eye contact.

“So,” Locus says, not liking this rare silence between them all of a sudden. “Eight years?”

 _“Why are you so hung up on that?”_ Grif asks.

Locus shrugs, because he doesn’t really know either.

More awkward silence. Locus frowns. He has literally never been tasked with keeping a conversation going. He makes an attempt.

“I haven’t… had relations. In a while. Either.”

Grif looks him up and down. _“Really?”_

“It wasn’t exactly on my mind. Also. Genocidal criminals on the run aren’t very attractive. Nor is an active genocidal criminal. Nor is a frighteningly quiet mercenary.”

“Huh,” Grif says.

Another silence, and Locus spends it watching the way Grif’s brow and eyes and mouth twitches as he works through something in his head, worrying away at some thought. He seems to come to some sort of conclusion, some decision. He looks up at Locus. And then he says:

“Locus, do you wanna fuck?”

Locus looks at him.

“As friends,” Grif clarifies.

He thinks about it for one second.

“Absolutely not.”

 

They fuck. Locus feels like he’s not doing this ‘platonic friends’ thing the right way. But at least that itchy restless need he hadn’t even registered goes away. At least he can finally stop thinking _you need to get laid_ on a loop. At least he makes Grif feel good, which somehow almost feels better than the actual sex.

Grif comes, and Locus comes, and he realizes that he’s missed sex.

So they just keep doing it.

 

Some asshole starts murdering a lot of people for some reason, the Reds and Blues get pulled into it for some reason, and after a lot of standing around and talking they get around to defeating him and getting him arrested. During one point, at the tail end of it all, Simmons dramatically saves Grif’s life.

“Don’t worry,” Wash says as they watch from a distance (too far away to do anything in time) as Simmons and Grif embrace, brush with death just barely survived. “This is very typical of them, actually. There was this one time with a cliff--”

Simmons takes his helmet off, and then Grif’s. And then he kisses him, passionately.

“--oh! But that isn’t!”

Locus watches, and thinks, oh well. That’s that, then. Grif has finally gotten together with the man he’s been pining after for over a decade, the one he didn’t have sex for eight years over. Locus is happy for him, in a deep, genuine way. But he supposes he’ll have to figure out this ‘satisfying his libido’ thing on his own, from now on. The end of an arrangement he’d actually rather enjoyed.

And then he realizes that he’s still watching them passionately kiss like a creep and he turns away.

 

For a solid month, Locus watches Grif and Simmons walk around in romantic bliss with each other, listens to Grif gush about him every time they spend time together, and they do not have sex or even mention having sex with each other, even as a thing that happened in the past.

And then one morning Grif walks up to him looking a little miserable and says, “Help, Locus.”

Locus looks at him, alarmed as his imagination scrambles to figure out what could have possibly upset him enough to finally break him out of his honeymoon phase. “What is it,” he asks.

Grif opens his mouth. Closes it. Grimaces.

“Is it embarrassing,” Locus asks.

Grif nods.

“We’ve had sex,” he says. “Spit it out.”

Grif grimaces again at the mention of sex, and Locus suppresses a wince. He hadn’t meant to be the one to break the silence on their past arrangement. Although he had hoped Grif wouldn’t have such a negative reaction to it being brought up again.

“That’s kind of it,” he says, and Locus can’t help the way his eyes widen at that.

“He _found out?”_ he asks, horrified. Oh god, is _he_ going to be the undoing of Grif and Simmons as a couple? He can think of at least three people here off the top of his head who’d kill him for that. Is he going to have to leave? Or can he just get by never turning his camo unit off again?

“What?” Grif asks. “Oh, no, not that! It’s about sex in general.”

Locus gives himself a moment to recover.

“We had sex for the first time--not counting tower stuff--yesterday.”

“You weren’t having sex until now?” Locus asks, confused.

“It’s embarrassing!” Grif cries.

“You’ve had sex with me. _You_ propositioned me. Boldly.”

“That’s different,” he protests. “I hadn’t been in love with you for over ten years first.”

“Fine,” he grants him that. “Now what’s the problem with having sex with the love of your life.”

“It’s,” Grif says. “Uh.”

“Grif, we’ve been over this,” Locus says. “Just say it.”

“It’s bad,” he says all in a rush.

“It’s… bad,” Locus repeats.

He nods miserably.

Locus considers whether or not if it’d be too weird to ask his platonic best friend to elaborate on why sex with his boyfriend is bad. Thinks, what the hell, it’s _Grif._ Grif who he’s had sex with it. It’s fine.

“Elaborate,” he says.

“I think? Simmons is very, very nervous when we do it? And so am I? So it’s mostly just nerve wracking instead? And he doesn’t really know what to do because he’s a virgin who’s been stuck in the closet his entire life until now?”

“Hmm,” Locus says.

“Please talk to him for me?” Grif asks.

Locus imagines explaining to Simmons, who he is not particularly close to, how to fuck Grif well from personal experience because his boyfriend whom he loves has a problem with how terrible he is at sex.

“Absolutely not,” he says.

 

“We need to talk,” Locus says, casually blocking Simmons’ only escape route--his bedroom door--with his bulk.

“Um?” Simmons says, his voice managing to break on that single syllable.

“About Grif,” he says.

“Oh god,” he whispers apparently to himself, his wide eyes fixed on Locus. “Locus, I know what this is and you really don’t need to do it.”

He feels his eyebrows rise. “I don’t? You do?”

“At least four other people have given me the shovel talk by now, it’s fine--”

“It’s not,” he decides.

Simmons squeaks.

“Grif had an... _unpleasant_ time yesterday,” he goes on, trying to at least lessen the blow.

“Oh my god,” Simmons says, and for a moment Locus thinks he’s finally gotten it but then he continues, “you’re supposed to at least give me a _warning_ that you’ll fuck me up if I fuck up first! You can’t just show up one day--”

“Grif asked me to do this,” he clarifies.

 _“--Grif asked you to beat me up!?_ It was that bad!?”

Locus pinches the bridge of his nose and gives up on not having to spell the whole situation out in utterly painful detail. He tries to think of the most efficient way to summarize the situation, so that he can at least rip the bandaid off quickly.

“I am going to explain to you, Simmons, who I am not particularly close to, how to fuck Grif well from personal experience because your boyfriend whom you love has a problem with how terrible you are at sex.”

Simmons looks at him for a long, long moment, his mouth open. Locus forces himself not to fidget.

“... It was that bad,” he finally croaks.

Locus nods.

“Wait,” Simmons says after another long moment. “Wait. Personal experience?”

Locus watches as it dawns on Simmons that Locus fucked the love of his life before they got together but decidedly and obviously while they were both already very much in love and mutually fantasizing about being in a serious romantic and sexual relationship with each other. This all feels like a highly specific surreal nightmare.

“You had sex with Grif,” Simmons says.

“Gnn,” Locus makes himself confirm.

“You… had sex with Grif,” Simmons repeats, and Locus very much wishes that he’d stop. Simmons is looking off into the distance, as if he’s vividly imagining the encounter. Locus is struck by the bizarre urge to cover himself up somehow, but he’s already fully clothed and standing with the most professional straight backed posture he can muster. “Grif… had sex with _you.”_

Simmons’ face is starting to go pink. “Oh wow,” he says.

He abruptly realizes that Simmons is _into this._

He supposes that is the best possible reaction, considering, but still-- Locus enacts his exit strategy.

“Wha--wait! Weren’t you going to give me advice!?” Simmons cries out after him as Locus sprints away. That’s right, he had promised Grif he’d do that. But he’s suddenly horribly flustered and, well. He’s broken promises before anyways.

 

“Did you take care of it?” Grif asks.

“I need to go do something somewhere else now,” Locus says, and leaves very quickly and acrobatically so that Grif can’t easily follow him.

 

 _“You didn’t take care of it!”_ Grif cries out the next time Locus lets his guard down enough to accidentally walk into him, sounding utterly betrayed. “Are you really going to make me _talk_ to him? About something _embarrassing?”_

“You’re in a serious romantic and sexual relationship,” Locus says, trying to distract from his broken promise. But also, he feels like he sort of has a point. “You should be able to do that with each other.”

“NO,” Grif says. “It’s SO hard!”

“Then just have terrible sex forever,” he says, summoning up the reservoir of mercilessness he’d marinated in for a quite a few years of his life.

“I can’t!” Grif says, radiating despair. “You brought it up so we can’t just ignore it _like I should’ve done_ from the start, and then you didn’t fix it! Locus! It’s so awkward! I’m not having any sex at all!”

Locus’ attempt at mercilessness crumbles in the face of Grif like it always does.

“You have to talk to your significant other about issues concerning your relationship with him,” he says, trying common sense as a last resort.

“But it’s so embarrassing,” he whines. “Can’t you just do it for me?”

“But,” Locus says, “it’s so embarrassing.”

“I _know,”_ Grif says.

“I could threaten you into doing it if you want,” he suggests, trying to be helpful.

“Why can’t _I_ threaten _you?”_ Grif asks.

Locus lifts an eyebrow.

“Yeah, alright,” Grif says. “Wait. Wait! I have an idea!”

Locus looks at him expectantly.

“We do this like partners,” he says with a smile, like he’s a genius.

 

Locus grabs Simmons as he’s walking past Grif’s room and pulls him inside. Simmons screams. Grif locks the door.

“Hey,” Grif says. “What’s up?”

“WHAT,” Simmons says, hand to his chest like he’s trying to manually stop his heart from beating through his chest.

“We need to talk,” Locus says.

“Um?” Simmons says.

“With Grif,” Locus says, nodding his head at him. Grif waves.

“I have no idea what this is,” Simmons says.

“You said you wanted advice,” Locus says.

“You’re going to give me-- sex advice,” he says.

“He sure is,” Grif says. “He is not going to leave this room until we’re all cool, sex wise.” He gives Locus a Look.

“Are you?” Simmons asks anxiously. “Going to leave the room?”

“Nope,” Grif says. Locus has proven that he cannot be trusted to fulfill this task on his own without bailing halfway through.

“Even when Locus is giving me ssss--sex advice?”

“Yup,” Grif says.

“Se--sex advice. Concerning my, my, our sex. My sex. With you. You’re just going to stand there while he does that.”

“Uh,” Grif says. “Hmmm. Huh.” He turns to Locus and whispers, “Locus I feel like I didn’t think this through, let’s abort--”

“No,” Locus says.

“What?” Grif asks.

“You’re going to make sure that I don’t bail. I’m going to make sure that you don’t bail. This is the strategy that we agreed upon.”

“Locus, no, that’s not what I’m talking about, that’s now what’s happening right now--”

“None of us are leaving this room until this issue has been resolved,” he declares.

“Oh god,” Grif says. “Locus--”

Locus gives Grif a Look. Grif shuts up. Locus looks at Simmons, who is staring at him.

“Now then,” he says, and tries to think of how he’s going to phrase this. _Let’s all settle down and talk together about how Simmons is bad at fucking Grif and I’m good at it and how he needs to take some lessons and be more like me. Grif, please start listing in grueling exacting detail all of Simmons’ sexual shortcomings in front of him and me._

“Grif, you’re right,” Locus says. “Let’s abort--”

“No, you know what?” Grif says. _“You’re_ right, Locus. We’re solving this forever right here, right now, and then we’re never talking about or thinking about it again.”

“Jesus Christ, this is a mess,” Simmons mutters to himself.

“Hey,” Locus says. “Tonight’s supposed to be about judging _you.”_

“Please don’t,” he begs.

Locus frowns at the wall as he thinks. He doesn’t really want to judge Simmons either. It’d be a question of what would kill him first: the guilt or the second hand embarrassment. He’s never been good at holding up under either of those emotions, even more so than emotions in general.

“Simmons,” he says haltingly. “You and Grif… had sex.”

“Ye--esss?” Simmons says uncertainly, like he’s not entirely sure that actually happened.

“And it didn’t go so well.”

“Nnno. No. No, it didn’t.”

Locus licks his lips nervously, and looks at Grif for any kind of support. Grif is resolutely staring at anywhere but them, clearly trying to actively force a state of dissociation. Locus is on his own for now.

“... Why?” he eventually manages.

Simmons opens his mouth to answer, and then closes it. Repeats the process of a few times, remarkably resembling a fish on dry land as he does so. His face is steadily growing redder and redder as he tries to force the words out.

“Grif?” Locus asks. “Why.”

Grif looks at him like Locus just handed him a live bat instead of the conversational ball. He doesn’t say anything either.

Jesus fucking Christ. Locus closes his eyes and inhales through his nose, exhales through his mouth. Shakes off the intense discomfort in favor or ruthless determination to push through the horribleness until he’s through and done with it all. It’s a technique he sometimes employed while on particularly awful missions, back in the day.

“Okay, look,” he says. “You’re obviously doing something wrong-- not because you’re wrong, but because you’re nervous and inexperienced and unused to interacting with Grif in this specific context that you’re particularly ignorant about. I’m none of those things when it comes to having sex with Grif.”

Simmons makes a pained sound and hides his face in his hands.

“So here’s what you need to do,” he goes on. “First of all, foreplay is very important--”

“I REGRET THIS ALREADY,” Grif says.

“Grif, let me talk,” Locus says. “Simmons, he likes it when you--”

“NO,” Grif says.

“This is literally what you asked me to do. This is your plan, every single inch of it.”

“Locus, I make bad decisions,” Grif says. “You can’t trust me!”

Locus turns back to Simmons, ignoring him. “There’s this thing you can do with your tongue that he loves…”

He trails off on his own as he notices that Simmons is staring at them, red faced, with his legs crossed. Locus narrows his eyes with suspicion. Simmons looks like he wants for the ground to swallow him up.

Oh, that’s right. Simmons is _into_ the fact that Grif and Locus have done this with each other. And now Locus is trying to explain it to him in vivid detail. While Grif stands besides him, flustered. The two of them standing over Simmons who is sitting on Grif’s bed, the door closed and locked.

Hmm.

Hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm.

Grif is interrupting him every two seconds to wail in agony and beg for mercy, Locus himself is barely hanging onto the composure and calm he’s managed to scrape up for himself, and Simmons looks like he’s barely managing to pay attention anyways. Doing this verbally is clearly not working for them, which really doesn’t come as a surprise to him considering how bad he is with words in general.

“It’s like this,” he says, takes a step closer to Simmons, planting a knee on the mattress as he leans in and down, one hand on his shoulder, one on the side of his face, and then he kisses him in front of Grif. Simmons makes a startled, muffled noise, there’s an audible inhalation from Grif’s direction, and Locus closes his eyes and focuses on doing the tongue thing that Grif loves.

Simmons makes another noise and melts, leaning into Locus’ hand and mouth. He loves it too, clearly.

After another long moment, he ends the kiss and leans away, looks into Simmons’ eyes as they dazedly flutter open. His eyes are already darker than they were before.

“Do you get it now?” he asks.

“Um,” Simmons says.

“I’ll show you on Grif,” he decides, and turns towards Grif.

Grif is looking at them with wide, disbelieving eyes, but Locus spent enough time screwing him on a regular basis to recognize the lust there as well.

He reaches out a hand towards him. “Come here,” he says.

Grif comes. Locus, one of his hands still on Simmons’ shoulder, knee still on the bed, looming over him, curls his other hand into the back of Grif’s hair, pulling him in, leaning over to him. They kiss. Locus does the thing. Grif makes a soft appreciative sound into his mouth.

“Now do it to him,” he says to Simmons, pulling away, sitting at his side on the bed instead. His hand on his shoulder goes to the back of his neck instead, and he pushes them against each other. They don’t have any choice but to kiss each other, and he inspects them closely as they do so, looking for signs of failure, of discomfort.

Simmons’ brow is a little furrowed--from anxiety, or concentration? If it is concentration, then it’s paying off. Grif is making helpless, pleased little noises into the kiss.

A heat starts pooling at the bottom of his gut, and Locus wonders if it’d be okay if he palmed his dick to the sight of this.

Simmons moans.

He just made out with Simmons in front of Grif, with Grif in front of Simmons, and then he mashed the two of them together like Barbie dolls. The line has already been crossed, he decides. He grinds the heel of his palm into his crotch and kisses the back of Simmons’ neck.

“Good,” he says. Positive reinforcement is important, he’s learned. “Now I’m going to show you how to suck his dick.”

Simmons has to end the kiss just so he can say, “Oh my god,” at that, and then hide his face in Grif’s shoulder. Grif grins down at him, a blush showing clearly on the side of his face with the pale skingraft.

“I make _great_ decisions,” he says.

Locus gives Grif a look past Simmons at that.

“What!” Grif says. “This is at least a collab.”

“I’m pretty sure this is just a threesome,” Simmons mumbles into Grif’s shoulder. Locus can see that the tips of his ears are bright red.

“An educational threesome,” Grif says.

“Edu-sex,” Locus says.

Locus watches with satisfaction as they choke on their spit as they’re startled into laughter. This is the benefit of only telling one joke a year on average. It doesn’t even have to be good.

“Oh my god, Locus,” Grif says. “Okay, okay, let's get our clothes off and our asses on this bed.”

He stands up and strips efficiently, tossing his clothes to the floor. After he’s gotten his shirt off he sees that Grif and Simmons haven’t even started yet; they’re just looking at him. He raises an eyebrow at them. They scramble to start unclothing as well.

“For fuck’s sake, I swear the fine motor control on this thing is still shit,” Simmons mutters as he fumbles with his buttons. Indicating his prosthetic arm, Locus assumes.

“I’m telling you, Simmons, sweats and a hoodie are the way to go if you don’t feel like squeezing into a tin can for the day,” Grif returns, undressing with quick ease.

Locus takes his pants off and Grif and Simmons are briefly distracted again. He has to clear his throat this time before they get back to it.

In the end, they’re all still wearing their underwear, but that’ll be easy enough to remedy in the heat of the moment. Also, Locus knows from experience that the more blood is rushing down south, the less you’ll care about being naked in front of someone. He just has to give it a few minutes.

Well. A couple of them will get a few minutes.

“Grif,” he says.

“Right, right,” Grif says. “I’m getting a blowjob, right. Can’t have one of those while wearing boxers. I’m getting a blowjob from-- who, exactly? Is it you, or is it Simmons, or--”

“You’re chattier than usual,” Simmons notes.

“What? Me? Chatty? More so than usual?”

“Yes,” Simmons says slowly, looking a little suspicious and weirded out.

“He’s often like this, actually,” Locus says. “Now watch.”

And then he pushes Grif until he’s lying down on the bed, his back a little propped up pillows, and he settles between his legs, tugging his underwear down and out of the way, thrown away without looking where it lands.

“You’re the only one here who’s seen what everyone in the room looks like naked,” he reminds him. “You have nothing to be nervous about.”

“Mhmm,” Grif says. _“Nothing_ to be nervous about, totally.”

“Threesomes are perfectly normal,” he says.

“Says _you,”_ Grif says.

“I bet he’s been invited to one by every single couple he’s ever known,” Simmons says to Grif, and kisses his cheek, lying down on his side next to him.

Grif laughs, and something in his body language relaxes a little. Hm.

Locus puts on his best baffled frown and says, “Is that not the norm.”

Simmons laughs too, this time. Locus likes it.

And then he leans down and takes Grif into his mouth. He opens his eyes and looks up to see if Simmons is watching. They both are, dark eyes fixed on him like his mouth wrapped around Grif’s dick is the most interesting thing in the world.

Locus’ dick twitches inside of his underwear. He closes his eyes, content that they’re watching (he’s being _watched),_ and slides more and more of Grif’s dick into his mouth, working his tongue as he does. Thinks. Slides back off.

“Grif,” he says, and his lips must be shiny with saliva and they must see it because their eyes are still fixed on his mouth.

Grif makes a wrecked little noise in return.

“You have to describe to Simmons what I’m doing. Can’t talk.” And then he promptly dives back in. He slides down, slow and languorous.

“Ah,” is pulled out of Grif’s mouth, a familiar sound to Locus. He’d missed that sound. “Ah, ah, ah.” It’s a sound rife with helpless pleasure, the noise he makes when Locus is curling his tongue around the head of his dick or tracing it along the underside of it. He lets his eyes go half lidded and unfocused as he focuses on wringing as many of those half moans out of Grif with his tongue as possible.

Belatedly, he remembers to squeeze Grif’s knee a little, reminding. Those noises spilling out of him aren’t words, aren’t descriptions.

“He’s,” Grif rasps, and is then interrupted by his own moan for a moment. He makes a second attempt. “He’s-- sucking. And--ah--bobbing his head. And--!”

He has to take a break from talking to swear and groan for a while, but Locus doesn’t stop. Grif will regain his composure eventually. As he’s swallowing another mouthful of precome, though, (and making Grif thump his head down against the pillow with a cry) a hand settles on the back of his head. It’s hesitant and light, so he parses it as not Grif’s even before the longer more slender fingers register. He looks up without breaking his stride. Simmons is looking down at him nervously, skittishly, clearly ready to rip his hand away if it doesn’t seem to be welcome.

Locus looks at him for a moment, and then closes his eyes and gets back to work. The hand stays.

“And,” he continues breathlessly. “He’s doing this-- circling thing, with his tongue. It’s pretty fucking fantastic, Simms.”

Simmons makes a wordless, acknowledging noise. Strokes Locus’ hair. A heavy breath puffs out of his nose at that. He grips Grif’s hips tightly.

He doesn’t want to stop. He wants to keep going until Grif comes in his mouth, until his jaw aches so badly he slurs every word, until Simmons is stroking his hair in tempo with his bobbing. But he’s here to help.

He slowly, reluctantly slides off of Grif. Grif makes a protesting noise, but Locus moves aside anyways. He rubs his aching jaw, swallows the taste and feeling of Grif’s cock on his tongue away, and looks at Simmons. “Your turn.” His voice is already blowjob-hoarse.

Simmons is looking straight at his face as he says it, but it looks like it takes a long moment for his words to sink in. He blinks rapidly, eyes on--

Locus rubs his hand across his mouth roughly, wiping away any spit or precome that might’ve dribbled past his lips.

“Come on,” he says, and reaches for Simmons wrist, tugging him forward into position. He comes along with a bit of a squeak. He leans in towards Simmons’ ear. “Above all, watch your teeth,” he whispers.

“I heard that!” Grif says, alarm edging into his voice.

“I would _never--”_ Simmons says with indignant embarrassment, going red like a thermometer. The flush starts from the top, but travels inexorably downwards.

Locus clears his throat and gives the spot between Simmons’ shoulderblades a gentle shove. Not enough to actually push him anywhere, but enough to give him an idea of what Locus wants for him to do.

“--right, yes, the blowjob. Yes. I will do that now. I will suck a dick.”

They all wait for a moment. Simmons doesn’t move.

“Simmons,” Grif says.

“I froze up,” Simmons says.

“You don’t have to do this if you don’t--”

“I do!” Simmons interrupts him hotly. “I _do_ want to, I just--” He stutters off into silence, and then groans wordlessly into his hands.

“Would it help if you thought of it as sucking _Grif’s_ dick more than just _a_ dick?” Locus asks.

“I guess?” Simmons says uncertainly, still hiding in his hands.

Locus thinks. Thinks about what might work with him. “Would it help if I pushed you down to it?”

Simmons stills. Locus watches him keenly for hints whether its a good stilling or a bad stilling.

Simmons shifts slightly, like something’s making him uncomfortable. Locus looks down to where his dick is straining against his underwear.

“And if we took that off first,” he decides.

Simmons nods.

Simmons takes off his underwear while biting his bottom lip and avoiding eye contact, flushed despite the fact that he’d just watched while Locus took Grif’s dick up to the base in his mouth.

Locus takes his off as well, and he’s so turned on that it mostly just feels like a relief.

His hand trails up Simmons’ back, and settles down on the back of the base of his head. “Just say so if you want for me to stop. Or pull at my arm if your mouth is full.”

Simmons whimpers. Locus starts pushing him downwards, slow but forceful.

“Holy shit,” Grif whispers, hands already twisted in the sheets as he watches Locus push his boyfriend down on his dick.

“Open,” Locus tells him, and Simmons does, and then Locus is forcing him very, very slowly downwards, giving him plenty of time to adjust. There’s resistance against his pushing hand, Simmons’ hands are gripping tightly to whatever they can reach, but he’s not going for Locus’ arm. Locus considers him for a moment and then realizes. “Breathe through your nose,” he says.

Simmons relaxes after a moment.

“Fuck, babe,” Grif says softly, looking down on him like he’d looked down at Locus moments ago. “I love you.”

Simmons makes a muffled groan around Grif’s dick which makes Grif tilt his head back, eyes shutting in pleasure. Locus stares at Grif, a little in disbelief that the two of them just had such an intimate moment with Locus still in the room. He isn’t noticed, thankfully. Grif has his eyes closed and Simmons looks like he’s focusing every single cell of brain power he has on the advice he’s been given so far tonight.

Locus can see his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows. His jaw working as he sucks. A little drool escaping his lips as he works Grif over with his tongue. Locus threads his fingers into Simmons’ hair and gently pulls him up by the roots of his hair. He inhales sharply through his nose. Locus pushes him back down. Pulls him up, pushes him down. Helps him bob.

“Just hit me if you don’t like it,” he says, voice husky and low.

Simmons moans and doesn’t hit him.

“Fuck,” Grif says. “Fuck, shit.”

“Do you remember that thing I did with my tongue when we kissed?” Locus asks. “Do that now.”

 _“Ah,”_ Grif moans, voice breaking a little on the sound. “Ah, ah, ah.”

Locus knows that he’s done his job by the fact that Simmons can now wring that noise out of Grif.

A long few minutes pass like this, with Simmons sucking and Grif making noises and Locus slowly pushing and pulling Simmons’ faster and faster as he sees the tension grow in Grif’s frame, that familiar build up. Locus stubbornly doesn’t touch himself, places his free hand on an available part of Grif’s body and doesn’t move it.

“Do you want to swallow it?” he asks Simmons before it’s too late. “His come.”

Grif’s breath stutters. Simmons groans and grinds his dick against the sheets, but he looks uncertain as well. Pressured to make a decision within a short timespan. Locus belatedly remembers from one of Grif’s ramblings that that’s something Simmons has a problem with. Feels a brief pang of regret, guilt.

“You can swallow it some other time if you want,” he decides. Grif and Simmons have a lifetime of blowjobs ahead of them. There’s no rush.

And so he then starts pulling Simmons up off of Grif again, except this time he pulls him all of the way off. Simmons breathes heavily, lips a little swollen, eyes dark and dazed, and--

“Simmons--!” Grif gasps out, and then he comes on Simmons’ face.

Locus stares, wide eyed, like a man caught committing a crime without a backup plan.

“What?” Simmons says, blinking confusedly, and he almost sounds drunk. His jaw. It must be very sore.

There is come dripping down Simmons’ face. Locus looks to Grif. He’s clearly still lost in his orgasm. Locus looks back to Simmons. Decides that it’s clearly his obligation to take care of this. Hauls Simmons up to his level.

“Good job,” he says firmly, and then starts kissing the come away before Simmons’ brain comes back online to freak out. Hopefully the praise will temporarily distract him.

There is a very strong chance that Locus is overstepping his bounds in this threesome right now, except then Simmons kisses him back, and _one_ of them starts grinding their dicks together, and Grif’s voice is saying with soft reverence, “Holy _fuck,_ yes.”

So he supposes that maybe it’s okay after all.

Locus tips them over eventually, and they fall from their knees onto the bed, and Grif laughs a little breathlessly and makes room for them. Simmons is on top of him. Grif is next to him.

“Don’t mind me,” he says with a shiteating grin, his body lax and his smile satisfied with his recent orgasm. “I’m just gonna watch the show for a while and then probably take a nap.”

Locus is honestly astonished that Grif’s still awake what must be two whole minutes after coming. A new record for him, surely. Simmons takes a hold of his and Locus’ dick in one hand, and almost all thoughts are driven out of his head. He’s gone a long time now without being touched, during this encounter. And before that, a month without any sex at all after Grif and Simmons got together. He’s ready, he’s _desperate._ He twitches up into Simmons’ hand and Simmons makes a helpless noise in return, their dicks moving against each other.

Locus wraps his hand around Simmons’ hand, around the two of them, and shows him the tempo that he wants. Punishing.

“Fuck!” Simmons says as their wrists move in tandem. And then, _“Locus!”_

He comes. He comes crying out Locus’ name.

He can’t possibly imagine being able to not fall over the edge in turn, at something like that.

Simmons collapses on top of him, spent and exhausted and overheated, his skin burningly hot where it’s pressed up against Locus’. There’s a vague sticky mess pressed up between them, but that can be for later when he doesn’t feel so _good,_ so blissed out, so sleepy.

He rolls over so that Simmons falls off of Locus and to his side on the bed, tosses an arm across him. Grif slips an arm around Locus’ midsection.

Locus falls asleep between the two of them feeling utterly satisfied.

 

“Hey, Locus!” Grif says.

“Hey,” Locus says stiltedly, not entirely sure of the protocol of how to talk with your friend after an incredible threesome with them and their significant other. But. Grif looks happy, so it’s probably fine. It all went according to plan, more or less. Maybe they’re going to do what they did last time, just not mention it unless it becomes pressingly relevant--

“So that was some great sex last night,” Grif says.

Locus gives him a faintly scandalized look.

“What!” Grif says. “Bear with me, I’m doing a segue!”

“A segue,” Locus says.

“Yes, I’m naturally and organically talking my way to asking you when you want to do that again.”

Locus looks at him.

“Well! You know! All you did was show him how to do kissing and blowjobs good! There’s lots of other stuff!”

“... True,” Locus admits.

“Also,” Grif says, and now he avoids eye contact a little awkwardly, a little nervously. “Simmons kind of brought up the fact that you two blew me, which is, um, not fair?”

“Not fair,” he repeats.

“Yes,” Grif says.

“It’s what we were there to do,” he says. “More or less.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know, but! He’s got a point! The two of _us_ didn’t blow Simmons, for example! And me and Simmons didn’t get to blow _you._ How is that fair?”

Locus looks at him for a long moment. Grif looks back, utterly earnest.

“That’s not… that wasn’t the point.” Grif and Simmons blowing him. Why, exactly, do they want to do that when they’ve got each other?

“Point shmoint,” Grif says.

“Just because your sargent uses that to get out of arguments--”

“It’s not that complicated! Me and Simmons like each other a lot, obviously, right, we’ve established this by now, right? I like him a _lot,_ and he says that he likes me a lot too and then he started dating me, so there’s proof too. And I like you a lot and you like me a lot! Because we’re friends who talk to each other all of the time--”

“Mostly you,” Locus says, but Grif ignores this.

“--and we totally had sex a bunch of times because it was super fun. And I think you and Simmons had fun together too, right? You didn’t have to get each other off.”

“I…….. guess,” Locus says, trying not to flush at talking about that time he got off together with Grif’s boyfriend with Grif. Grif already knows, obviously. He was _there._

“Soooooo, why not just keep doing it? Together? All three of us, I mean. If we all like it and each other so much.”

Grif looks at him expectantly for a response, fiddling nervously with the end of his t shirt to stop himself from filling the waiting silence with babbling.

Locus realizes that he’s just been handed another arrangement that he will very probably enjoy very much on a silver platter. He’d be a fool not to take it.

_“Absolutely--”_

 

He takes it.

**Author's Note:**

> Oh and btw I got some sweet ass fanart from [whatevergetsyouoffatnight!](https://whatevergetsyouoffatnight.tumblr.com/post/174123038668/primtheamazing-your-fault) Good shit.


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